


The Dæmon

by Random_ag



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Alternate Universe - Guardian Angels, Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Murder, No but really, more like guardian murder fairy or something amirite, willy belongs to control-room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 18:18:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16224668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_ag/pseuds/Random_ag
Summary: From ancient Greek: a lesser deity; a guiding spirit; a breed of demons that act as guardians.Such was the Stranger.





	The Dæmon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Control_Room](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Control_Room/gifts).
  * Inspired by [kids](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16143758) by [Control_Room](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Control_Room/pseuds/Control_Room). 



It started with the feeling of being looked after and guarded whenever they went to bed, and the soft pressure of something on the wounds their mother would break upon their skin.

 

Then came Rupert’s departure and her parties in his absence; she would call for them downstairs, but they couldn’t get out of the safe haven of their room. No matter how hard they pulled or pushed, the door was always closed.

She kept calling, men and women’s loud voices slurring and cursing behind her. The door wouldn’t open. She had to stop.

 

Then Wally suddenly kept finding new books at the end of his bed.

Willy stopped knowing where were the drugs he’d hidden away, instead having them replaced by new ones that kept him in focus while killing whatever was hurting him from the inside.

He and Tim always made it back home, no matter how drunk they were or what crimes had they commited. They began believing in guardian angels.

 

Then his eyes fluttered open in the aftermath of the incident, but he couldn’t see well; he felt his head on someone’s knees and a hand caressing him rhythmically. He could hear something burning not too far away.

A voice filled his ears softly, talking to him in a hushed whisper, **what do I do, do I help him, please tell me, people are coming, please, I don’t have much time.**

He was tired. He was drunk. He didn’t answer. He fell asleep.

There were always fresh flowers on Tim’s grave. He hadn’t brought them.

 

Then came Bill.

Bill who looked at them with hungry eyes.

Bill who followed them wherever they went.

Bill who kissed their mother as if he wasn’t her son.

Bill who grabbed their ankles to have “fun” with them.

 

Bill whose head violently crashed on the bunk bed’s frame.

 

The twins screamed. The Stranger threw their older, awful half-brother on the floor with no effort whatsoever. Something in Bill’s body broke loudly.

 He wasn’t dead.

The Stranger turned to them slowly, no cheeks, no brows, no nose, no mouth on his face to be seen - only dirty bone, an eye of blue and one of orange staring at them intently.

 

**“Do you want him to be?”**

 

His voice was made of soothing nightmares.

 

The twins didn’t answer, but their minds shouted.

The Stranger yanked Bill by the hair and left the room with long, slow steps as the young man cried for help.

There was a strong crack. 

And the yells ceased.

 

Their mother’s voice came loud and clear, first furious, then scared, then desperate, calling for them. They flew out of their bed, each shoving the other away to keep him safe.

The Stranger raised his head to greet them. They didn’t see her. His presence seemed to cancel everything else.

 

**“Do you want her to be?”**

 

Wally thought. Willy didn’t.

He still knew.

 

**“Turn around.”**

 

She screamed.

They still did.

And she stopped screaming.

 

And they sensed something looming over them, silent and eerie and infinitely more powerful than them, and Willy panicked; his twin pushed as far away as he could, he turned to face the demon, ready to have his soul eaten alive rather than to let his brother die.

LEAVE HIM ALONE died inside his throat.

The Stranger held him quietly, lovingly, its eyes closed. Then he showed them his back and left.

 

They didn’t see him go through the door.

 

Petunia and Jericho looked after them for a while, before they could take back the reins of their lives. They feared the police would come for them, for the corpses they had left in the empty house when the fled to their half-siblings to seek their help.

The bodies were never found.

Life went on. They found a job. They met people who cared and loved for them.

Wally stopped thinking about the strange happenings of his childhood.

 

Willy didn’t.

 

Always, he felt something staring at the back of his head and saw a long figure standing, quiet, in the corner of his eye, never leaving him for even a second. And what a capricious torturer was his.

Sometimes it would be so visible it was almost painful, sometimes he couldn’t have told it from the world around him for his own sanity’s sake; sometimes its aura seemed so strongly concrete it would take over the entire room; others it was but a weak wisp of air.

Some nights he could felt its presence by his bed. 

Watching.

It never made a single move.

 

“What do you want from me?”

The Stranger stared without answering. They were in front of Rupert’s grave. Willy was on the verge of tears.

 

“What do I have to pay for everything you’ve done for me?”

It couldn’t be free. Bill, his mother, the medicines, being saved, being alive - it had to have a price.

 

“Just - please, please, not Shawn, or Wally, or the girls, or-”

 

**“Eska.”**

 

Willy choked on his words. The Stranger pointed at himself.

 

**“Eska.”**

 

He sat down on the cemetery’s grass with the innocence of a child.

 

**“We’re not strangers now.”**

 

He seemed so human.

 

“What are you?”

**“A friend.”**

“A demon?”

**“Don’t think.”**

“An angel, then.”

**“No.”**

“But you looked after me.”

**“Yes.”**

“Why?”

 

A chill ran down Eska’s spine. As if cold palms had grabbed his arms, hungry, feverish, begging.

 

**“We’re friends.”**

 

And that was all the reasons he ever gave him.

 

When war began, he didn’t think all those he loved would die.

Jericho was killed on the battlefield. Wally disappeared. Petunia was shot. Shawn went missing.

He was alone.

Maybe not completely: for the angels that were his girls helped him through the days when he’d have to wake up facing the empty side of his bed, and whenever he went to cry on new tombs a loyal dog would follow him.

But he couldn’t help feeling like all he had, all that chained him to the best moments of his past had just gone lost.

 

Like he was completely, utterly, uncurably alone.

 

And Eska noticed.

 

**“You want them back?”**

“They can’t come back.”

 

Eska didn’t reply; he pat his head and went away. When he returned, he sang all the way to Willy’s door, firmly holding in his hand a human chain of souls not yet alive, but soon to be. He left them in the living room and guarded them till dawn.

When Willy came down to all those who were taken away from him, he had already gone. 

 

The last time they saw each other, Willy laid on his bed.

Eska sat down on it, quiet as he’d always been.

 

**“You’re dying.”**

“Pretty soon, yes.”

**“Today.”**

“How can you know?”

**“I do.”**

 

The old man let out a tired breath.

 

**“I’ll die too.”**

“Soon?”

**“With you.”**

“I didn’t know guardian demons could die.”

**“Only spirits don’t, I think.”**

“And then? What will happen?”

**“Don’t know.”**

 

The bony creature laid on top of him. His arms curled around him in the copy of a hug given back when he was just the Stranger.

It felt cool, yet warm.

And very, very weak.

 

**“I think we already died once.”**

 

His voice was so low it could barely be heard.

 

**“In a sad, lonely way.”**

 

The clock was ticking softly.

 

**“Are you lonely right now?”**

 

Willy’s breath was heavy. 

 

“No. Not at all.”

 

Eska felt so very real.

 

**“I hope I won’t be lonely when I die again, too.”**

 

Shawn kissed him on the cheek that morning. If he’d known, Willy would have waited until noon before he stopped breathing.

 

* * *

 

It started with the appearance of soft candies that kept all that wasn’t real away from him, and a soft something holding him at night when it was so cold he cried for death.

 

 Then it brought a book, and a mask to help him feel better, and took him in its arms to read to him and make him fall asleep.

 

 Then it began to appear in the corner of his eye, as he worked.

 

He’d never seen all of it. He could only feel its silky touch lead him and catch glimpses of parts of its being; the arms and legs, the skin that glowed of its own light, the curly hair vanishing in wisps of air.

 

_“How cute!”_

 

The first time he faced it came oon after his parents’ wedding. He stood away from celebrations, diving in the quiet around him; it started conversation, grinnning wonderfully as it looked at the small, fat fox in his arms.

 

_“What’s his name?”_

 

He stared deep into its dark eyes. They looked a little tired.

 

“Pizzocchero.”

_“It’s a nice name.”_

 

He figured he was surely a handful to protect. 

 

_“Mine’s Willy.”_

“I’m Eska.”

_“I know.”_

“Are you an angel?”

_“I wouldn’t say that, I’m just… a friend.”_

“Of the Spirit of Violent Deaths?”

_“No, no, I’m your friend.”_

 

Eska was sure he’d seen him.

Before he helped him, before they left him, before even his birth, just.

 

Before.

 

He put his pet down and hugged the other, maybe a little desperately, as if doing so could shine a light on all his doubts.

Softer, darker arms held him back. He could hear him giggling against his chest. For a second he was sure he’d melt in tears.

He inhaled.

 

Willy smelled like lavander.


End file.
